#this is a vague post even if it’s oddly specific

[r0semultiverse]

Okay I’m sure this is gonna get screenshotted at some point, but if you mean to tell me your all-powerful “God” is letting all this racism, colonialism, war, famine, pollution, xenophobia, transphobia happen “for a reason” I’m going to explode. I’m automatically gonna discredit your reputation for talking about & knowing about a piece of media especially when you emphasize how you’re a “Christian” so there’s “one objective truth” and anyone else who says otherwise is “wrong.” Never thought I’d hear some shit like that (the second part, the first part I heard in a church long ago) in a reacting to Homestuck video, but here we are.

[chibishortdeath]

Hmmm I kinda want to make a side blog for RPG Maker game development related things to be able to talk to more experienced people in that community, but at the same time I both don’t really think I’d get much attention and don’t want to accidentally spoil my own game (^^ ; ).

I have a rough story, concept doodles, a tileset, some character sprites, an enemy that walks around but can’t initiate battle yet (if I even decide to have a battle system), a couple rooms with some events, and a functioning run button, but I’m still lost on how to do much else at the moment. Especially since this program has the ability for scripting, meaning I’ll probably have to learn and actually retain another coding language.

So, I’m not very far at all lol. Idk how well that’d go over on the established fandom website, but eh.

[cassmouse]

100 pages exactly into Paradise Rot, I'm over halfway through, I've only been reading it for like two days, and my only thoughts are 'what the fuck' and 'piss'

[pybun]

baptizing the shoes by going to the market like this

HOLY SHIT ITS FINALLY HEEEEEEEEEERE 🥹😭🤡🥳

[writerwrabbleswords]

Bookish | Wolverine/Logan Howlett X [Male Librarian] Reader

 What made libraries so special? Logan might have answer to that, and it's the guy behind the desk.

 Quick notes :  This was an idea that came to me randomly! I liked the idea of having a more softish reader since it’s a personality that contrasts so well with Logans - think opposites attract! As usual, this story is set from Logan's POV (I’ll do Reader POV at some point, most likely in a oneshot rather than in these drabbles)! There will most likely be a few things (or many) that aren’t accurate to the X-Men comics/movies lore, and this is because I have yet to see the movies… I will be changing this shortly, however! [Side note, I will be completing a request sometime today and posting it alongside a part 2 to the Iron Man variant reader drabble.]

Story Details :  About 1,300 words, Male Reader referred to as ‘You/Your,’ Reader has a soft personality, Reader’s outfit is vaguely described, inaccurate implied history of mutants and their evolution, so much fluff, Logan slightly OOC (?)

Chuck wanted him to go to the damn library. He didn’t even like the library. Apparently the old telepath needed some specific books on mutants for a presentation he was going to give to the students at the school. So, of course, he sent Logan. Asshole.

  The older mutant pushed one of the front doors open, stepping into the building with his mouth set in a firm frown. A few of the guests looked up at him, but otherwise remained focused on their own book searching or reading. He huffed, his brows furrowing slightly as he took in the large area of books - not counting the second floor. Logan did not want to spend the whole damn day in this stuffy library, so he swallowed his pride and approached the librarian desk nearby.

 To his surprise, however, he was met with you. You had a knit sweater on, with a button-up beneath it and a pair of dress pants; Logan couldn’t help but admire your form for a beat, taking in the small details about you. It took a moment before you looked up from the book you were reading, a warm smile gracing your face as you set it aside and gave the mutant your full attention. 

  “How may I help you, sir?” 

  Your voice made something flutter in Logans’ stomach, but he pushed the feeling aside. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked away in an attempt to straighten his thoughts.

  “Does the library have books on mutants and their history?” He asked gruffly, fixing his eyes on you once more as he continued, “Specifically the mutation history?”

  The way you blinked, pursing your lips in thought as you rubbed your chin made his heart thump oddly; why were you so… cute? At the thought, the mutant shook his head slightly, trying to clear his mind and focus on the task he’d been assigned.

  “We have a mutant section in both fiction and nonfiction, but what you’re looking for is more likely in our history catalog,” you reached forward, typing something into the computer just beside you as you tapped your fingers against the wooden desk, “It might be in nonfiction, though. Is there a specific book you’re looking for?”

 Logan watched you closely, his fingers twitching subtly as he felt the sudden urge to smoke; a cigar would’ve helped loosen him up, he guessed. He blinked when you suddenly addressed him, his focus shifting to what you’d said as he nodded and pulled out a small sticky note from his pocket. Written down in Chuck’s neat handwriting were the titles of the four books he needed, and the mutant handed it over with little a word.

 You took the note in your hand, your fingers brushing against his as a shiver ran up his arm at the contact. The small hum that left you was, admittedly, kind of cute - it reminded him of a puppy trying to remember a command it was learning. As you scanned the list of books, a small smile graced your features, making the large room practically light up.

  “Ah! We have three of these books!” You stated excitedly, turning back to your computer and presumably typing in their titles, “I know the one on mutant evolution in cells should be in mutant nonfiction - numbers 400 through 500 - but the other two I’m unsure of.”

  When you got the answer you were looking for, your hand swooped as you scribbled out the location of each of the books Logan needed on a small slip of paper, the smile never leaving your face.

  “They’re all very good books, you know,” your voice brought him out of his thoughts, “I’ve read the one on cell evolution and mutant development over the decades; they’re both packed full of information I think more folks should know.”

  The fact you were pro-mutant - something so rarely seen these days - made a small part of Logan feel almost grateful. He had been expecting you to be closed off and aggressive (he didn’t know why that was his expectation, but considering how mutants were treated, he figured it was just how it was when he went out and about), but the way you so openly discussed that you thought people should learn more about mutants made him reconsider his opinions. After a pause, with the only sound nearby being the scratching of your pencil against paper, Logan spoke up.

  “Do you have any other recommendations?” His fingers flexed, “On mutant history, that is.”

  He watched as you seemingly perked up, the smile on your face turning to nearly a grin as you typed out something on the library computer,

  “Actually, I do!”

  When you found what you were looking for, the older mutant watched as you added a few more titles to the list of what he wanted and their location within the library.

  “There’s a book on mutant inventions I always recommend, as well as one on the PTSD epidemic currently affecting mutants - that one is less history focused, but it’s still rather insightful,” He listened as you spoke with such certainty and excitement, as if the topic was one you were deeply invested in, “The only other one I could recommend would be by Dr. Hancock, a leading mutant researcher in cracking the X gene in mutants. That one is the last one on this list.”

  With a slight tilt of your head, you set the paper with the list of books down on the desk in front of him, tapping it with your fingers as you seemingly thought for a pause. Logan glanced down at the paper before taking it in his hand, his eyes scanning your writing as he let out a grunt of approval - you were quick and efficient, and that was something he could appreciate.

  “Can I ask you a question?” The mutant found himself asking, unable to keep the words from leaving him.

  You simply nodded, still smiling so kindly as waited for him to ask.

  “Why are you so… interested in mutants? You seem to know a lot,” 

  It was a harsh question - incredibly straightforward and blunt, just as he was - but you seemed to take it in stride, simply rubbing your chin as your gaze went upwards in thought. Logan decided he liked the way you looked when you were pondering something; it reminded him of something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Well, my interest started primarily because I had a mutant friend when I was younger,” you admitted honestly, finally refocusing on him, “They taught me quite a lot - about the oppression and lack of rights - and after that I devoted time to learning as much as I could because I never wanted to make a mutant feel less than.”

  Your answer had Logan pause, his eyebrows near lifting to his hairline as he stared down at your seated form; that was not the answer he was prepared for. He was prepared for you to say something like ‘I wanted to learn about others,’ or, ‘Mutants are fascinating,’ not that you wanted to make them feel equal. The thought had a slight smile tug at his expression, the sincerity in your words ringing true even for him.

  “Bleeding heart, then,” He said with an amused huff, looking back down at the list in his hand before he gave you a slight nod, “Thank you. For the help.”

  Logan watched as you laughed softly, picking up your book and flipping to the page with your bookmark in it,

  “I’ll be here if you need more of it, sir.”

  The smile on his face widened slightly as he finally stepped away from your desk, his fingers brushing over the paper he held as he began to step towards the part of the library you’d indicated was where the books he needed would be.

  It was only when he found two of the books that he realized he didn’t have a library card. Fuck.

[tiddygame]

i’ve stared at this for so long that i now hate it and think ive lost all concept of how to write so take this and get it out of my google docs

the introduction is rough and the medical depictions (and accuracy/realism) could use some (a lot of) work but whatever! here it is, my vague yet still oddly specific idea of how the face reveal would go in @myriadblvck ’s streamer au:

tw: description of a panic attack? i think?

[this takes place post first irl meet but before they’re officially together]

imagine ghost has a glasgow smile but on one side they carved a little too deep and left some nerve damage. time and surgery helped, after which he could eat unimpeded and talk without a lisp, but there's still some facial nerve damage and/or skin contractures from scarring, specifically around the corner of his mouth.

now, everytime he smiles, be it shit eating grin or a full genuine joy filled smile that not even grumpy mcgrumperson could hold off, it always looks wrong because one corner doesn't raise fully like the other.

everything else is fine, there isn’t any facial paralysis, he just smiles… wrong. especially since only one eye properly squints when he smiles, giving him the look of someone who got stuck mid wink.

if he wants to look “normal” (or as normal as he could get it) he has to manually squint his other eye. still, it always felt weird; you don't realize how much those muscles affect the rest of your face until they're gone.

it's why he learned to always wear the mask.

when his expression is neutral, you don’t really notice it. if you can see his mouth when he talks however, it’s obvious that there’s something wrong. he wouldn’t say he’s necessarily ashamed of the scars and damage itself, but it’s the stares that are the worst. before he started hiding behind it, people would openly gawk or even glare at him as if he was some ne’er-do-well gang member that got what was coming to him.

he still remembers the cosmetic surgeon that had been talking to him about fixing the contractures— the whole appointment was a fucking nightmare. the cuts had healed nicely enough especially considering how bad it could have been; he was lucky to only need a little cosmetic help. the only reason he was there was so he could fucking eat food without struggling to open his mouth.

the doctor spent god knows how long breaking down everything wrong with his face like he was a fucking car mechanic lying about how dirty your filter is. the guy constantly mentioned that while he was under, they could also fix his jawline, do a rhinoplasty, trying to break him down to agree to more work.

he was already fuming my the time the doc brought up how kids would react. asking ghost if he wanted to scare children since “you cant expect the little youngins that are still learning about the world to not get scared by something scary,” and that “even some adults would cringe at the scarring.”

what stuck out most was the condescending smile he had when he said it. as if he was pointing out the obvious and ghost was being stupid and shortsighted by not agreeing.

he declined everything except what was medically necessary. the procedure went fine and after an aggravatingly long recovery period, he could eat solid foods again without issue. but the comments still stuck with him.

…okay, maybe he’s a little ashamed.

scaring kids with your face doesn’t feel good and being reminded of everything you’ve lost when you try to smile can really fuck you up in a way words fail to describe.

so yeah, he hates it. he’s gotten used to the mask, both skull clad balaclava and simple medical mask, being a permanent layer of armor. even now that he’s a bit more comfortable in his own skin it still feels wrong to pull it off.

when he gets close to soap, it still feels like a layer of vulnerability that he’ll never be prepared for.

the first time he let soap see his face, there hadn’t been any grandiose build up, no extravagant planning.

simon had arrived just a few hours earlier. he hated commercial flights with a burning passion but it was always worth it to see johnny.

with soaps twin out of town for the week, he had decided to take leave to spend time with his friend, a friend that he most certainly did NOT have a crush on (a disclaimer roach and gaz heard everytime they started snickering over ghost taking leave.)

johnny had cooked something nice and simple for dinner, saying that simon had spent too long with MREs and deserved real food (ghost only agreed if he was the one washing the dishes, soap had laughed and told him he's not so kind as to let him off the hook for chores).

when they ate, it was always in the living room with johnny taking care to always stay angled away from simon, never trying to catch a glimpse, regardless of how much he wanted to see what was under the mask. the obvious gesture of kindness and respect for his boundaries always left him feeling all weird and fuzzy inside. but, then again, johnny seemed pretty good at triggering that feeling in general.

their finished plates were on the coffee table and johnny was watching whatever dumb movie he had put on. he was pretty sure the man spent more time talking over it and making fun of everything than he did actually watching it (it was simon’s favorite way to watch a movie.)

ghost however, was watching soap. thinking.

in the end, it was an impulsive decision made after a strong three seconds of consideration.

“you uhm— you can look by the way,” ghost stared at the can of soda in his hands, immediately regretting the words.

“what?” soap didn’t fully turn, just shifted slightly to hear him better. a simple gesture to show he was listening without turning to face him. it normally made simon happy to see that johnny was more than willing to accommodate for his boundaries. now though it made him feel stupid for robbing johnny of a normal face to face conversation, a normal human interaction, just over his idiotic insecurities.

“my face, you—,” he felt his heart block his airway and tried clearing his throat before continuing, “you can look if you want,” christ he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. why was he getting so fucked up over this?

“are you sure?” he hadn’t turned yet, but ghost could see his pensive expression from here. this should be nothing. realistically, he knew johnny seeing his scars wouldn’t suddenly make him hate him… right?

“yes.”

but it was more than the fear of hatred, wasn’t it? he was scared that johnny would see him. see more than just the scars, see all of the ugly idiosyncrasies and insecurities laid bare. afraid that johnny would see the truth of how unlovable he was.

jesus he was getting so fucking worked up and dramatic over nothing.

ghost didn’t look up. he made an effort to not focus on his peripheral vision. he heard soap turn, heard the intake of breath. the silence was loud only for a second. then, deafening white noise surrounded him, inescapable, suffocating.

fuck.

he didn’t regret giving permission but god did he regret everything else; the stupid scars, the stupid nerve damage, the stupid way he had managed to fall for someone so fucking good like johnny while he was unequivocally unworthy of his love.

stop being so fucking dramatic. you are not together, never have been and never will be. reality was blatant in front of him but it didn’t stop his heart from foolishly hoping.

he heard soap stand and walk closer. saw from where he was still staring a hole in the can his feet step in front of his. saw johnny’s hands raise. he took a deep breath in, closed his eyes, and with a great deal of effort didn’t flinch when soaps fingers grazed his cheek.

both of his hands came up to cup his face, holding him and ever so slightly tilting his face up, giving him the chance to pull away. he didn’t. he may be a coward but he wasn’t backing down.

ghost eventually opened his eyes to see soap staring at him with wide eyes. he looked away, staring off to some point on the right. he hated not knowing what soap was thinking.

they stayed there for a while before soap broke the silence, muttering, “i fuckin knew you had freckles.”

it was stupid but it shocked a laugh out of ghost. he meant to drop his head, embarrassed that something so dumb made him laugh, but accidentally just pushed himself further into soaps hands making him blush.

he looked up and saw soap staring even harder than before. the chuckle died in his chest.

“do that again.”

ghost just gave him a confused look.

“smile.”

such a simple request, a one word sentence, but it set his face ablaze. his breath caught in his throat, somewhere around where his heart was still trying to choke him.

…he hadn’t thought it was that bad but soaps reaction indicated otherwise. fuck. was his it that awful? he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. this was stupid. he was stupid.

“simon,” of course, one word from johnny and it felt like he could breathe again.

“please?”

fucking goddamn soap and his stupid fucking puppy dog eyes and the way he has ghost wrapped around his fucking finger without even realizing.

ghost smiled. there was no real mirth, more a grimace than anything else. he just wanted to get this over with.

soap was still staring at him, his thumbs tracing his lips, following scars, drawing imaginary lines between freckles… if he wasn't so terrified it might have felt nice.

“Christ,” ghosts heart cracked more, “you weren't lying when you said you were beautiful.”

ghost huffed a laugh and went back to staring off to the right, the fake smile dropping. of course soap would try to lighten the mood with a joke.

his panic fled as quickly as it had consumed him, now just left sitting in soap's living room, face still cradled in caring hands, resigned to his mistakes.

he felt so tired and johnny's hands felt so inviting.

“i wasn't joking,” soap looked…upset? angry? wait— fuck, what’d he do?

ghost stared back at soap, confused and tired. soaps nails felt the grooves of the scar, catching where the skin was raised and lowered.

“you don't have to lie, soap. im a grown man. I'm not fragile. you don't need to coddle me,” ghost said it like it was a joke, hoping soap would laugh along and that this would all just blow over. that tomorrow morning they could forget this ever happened.

“are you calling me a liar?” soap’s brow furrowed. great. instead, he had managed to make everything worse and piss off soap as well.

ghost took in a deep breath, giving himself another shot at calming things down, “no, I'm not. I think you're lying, but you're not a liar,” he stood and stepped to the side, grabbing their dirty plates and walking them to the kitchen sink, “you just don't want to upset me, it's fine. I get it. you're a nice person but you don't have to lie to spare my feelings.”

“I am not fucking lying!” as per usual, all ghost had managed to do was make things worse. there’s a reason he had decided to stick to the battlefield and give up on domesticity.

“well alright then. agree to disagree,” he turned the kitchen tap and started rinsing the dishes, waiting for the water to heat up. just walk away. end it there. let us forget about this stupid blunder and move on. please just leave it. please, please, please—

“no.”

the force behind it damn near made ghost drop the plate he was holding. he managed to set it in the sink carefully and turned to face soap, who was now in the kitchen as well.

“i— I'm not just gonna fucking— simon,” soap took in a deeper breath and went to continue but ghost was faster.

“johnny,” he interrupted, walking forward with his hands up in a gesture of surrender, approaching slowly.

one last chance to not fuck everything up.

“the fact is they're called deformities for a reason. they're not cute. they're not pretty. they're your body’s way of healing what it can and protecting what it can't. it's not meant to look nice, it's just—”

“bullshit they’re not pretty! says fucking who?” the genuine distress in soap’s voice and force behind his words caught him off guard. “simon—”

he huffed and ran his fingers through his hair roughly, pulling slightly at the strands. christ, ghost needs to shut the fuck up. every single time he speaks he just upsets soap more and more.

he needs to retake his hostage negotiations courses. clearly he has forgotten everything about how to diffuse a situation.

johnny takes another second to breathe and collect his thoughts before he speaks.

“simon. I know that— that ‘this’ isn't something that's going to fix itself overnight and I don't expect it to. but, ‘the fact is,’ I think you're pretty.”

ghost opens his mouth to disagree but johnny doesn’t let him.

“no no,” johnny put his hand over simon’s mouth, shocking him into silence. he blinks twice, stupefied.

“i think— no. I know you're pretty. cute even. beautiful is a given but obviously worth mentioning.”

his hand moved to cup simon’s cheek. ghost grabbed his wrist but didn’t stop him, wether it was a warning or encouragement he himself didn’t know.

johnny continued, unperturbed, “you disagreeing doesn't change that, right?”

there was a pause and simon realized he wanted an answer.

“johnny-”

“ah ah!” his hand moved back to cover his mouth, grabbing his face and shaking his head back and forth, over accentuating his words, “you disagreeing doesn't change that, right? yes or no.”

he stopped shaking him and moved his hand back to simon’s cheek. simon sighed, defeated, “yes. you are right.”

johnny looked smug, “good. and what do you say when i give you a compliment you don’t agree with?”

simon sputtered, “wha— i don't fucking know—”

“nothing! you don’t say anything!” soap looked way too proud of himself and he continued, “or thank you if you feel so inclined.”

“that was a trick question,” simon replied eventually.

johnny thumbed over his scars once more, again tracing them, “sure it was. now go take a shower.”

he patted his cheek twice and walked to the hallway.

“wait,” johnny probably shook the few remaining brain cells out of his head. “this whole conversation ends with you telling me that I stink?”

“yes. rancid,” johnny opened the door to the linen closet. simon was still in the kitchen. the tap was still running.

“no dipshit, do you not remember telling me that commercial planes makes you feel gross?” johnny threw a towel at him, which he caught just in time for johnny to hit him with a bath rag.

ghost had mentioned that… ages ago, he thinks. on facetime with each other, discussing the merits of bathrooms on public transport. he had said that enclosed, crowded spaces like commercial planes or buses made him feel, well, gross. how—or why—did he remember that?

“but… I’m supposed to wash the dishes?” a weak argument against the stubbornness he was faced with but simon had officially lost track of his mind and this conversation.

johnny shot him a weird look as he walked back towards the kitchen sink. simon still hadn’t moved.

“did you think i was being serious earlier?”

“yes???” he felt like he had been given a lobotomy.

johnny decided to take pity on him and explained in a soft voice that felt out of place, “i was being sarcastic. i’m not going to make you wash the dishes, simon.”

“but that was the agreement: you cook and i wash the dishes.”

johnny laughed as if he remembered something funny, “yeah, i lied.”

simon still stood there, trying to figure out if he had a stroke. johnny had been angry, completely pissed at him, but now was letting him off the hook and calling him pretty? what the fuck is happening?

johnny turned him and pushed him towards the hallway. simon could have resisted but his resolve always seems to crumble around johnny mactavish.

“now go shower, you beautiful bastard,” soap grabbed one of the plates out of the sink and started washing it with water that had probably heated ages ago.

ghost walked towards the bathroom, feeling like he was on autopilot, limbs disconnected from his brain. his cheek still felt… odd? weird? tingly?

it felt something from where johnny had grabbed it. ghost thinks… he thinks he likes the feeling, whatever it is.

he needs to sleep.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for sleeping with a 20 year old?

tw: mentions of potential grooming, age gap relationships, nsft/nsfw, vague discussions of sex

So, me (38m) and my wife (39f) are in an open relationship. Basically, we’re both bisexual and not quite ready to limit our sex lives to one person yet. So, we decided to allow friends with benefits situations outside of our relationship. No romantic stuff, no dating, just sex.

In January, my wife went to stay at her best friend’s (28f) house and have some fun together. I don’t mind at all, I was kind of glad to have our apartment to myself for a week. Now, there’s this queer bar that me and my wife frequent and it’s a good mix of all age demographics and identities.

There’s this one trans guy, I’ll call him M, that most people in the local community know because he’s very attractive. He reminds me of a very short Eric Draven mixed with Eddie Vedder. (Oddly specific, I know) Like, he has long-ish curly brown hair, big brown eyes, the sweetest smile ever and he dresses very well. A little grunge here, a little rockstar there. Good jewelry. You get it.

I always catch people staring at him when he’s at the bar with his friends. (We live in Europe btw, legal drinking age is 18.) In short, I find him very cute. He’s basically a micro celebrity among the community and he doesn’t even know it.

So, while my wife was away I went down to the bar and his friend group invited me to come sit with them. We started talking, he’s super funny and we began talking about Pearl Jam because of the shirt I was wearing. Found out he’s obsessed with the music scene of the 90s, specifically rock and grunge, and I happen to have a collection of merchandise of the big 4. I invited him to come check it out and he eagerly accepted. None of his friends wanted to come, so it was just us two. Showed him the stuff, he got super excited about it and I even let him keep one of my Soundgarden shirts and some CDs.

I offered to cook dinner, we ate and then had some weed brownies for dessert. We got posted on the couch, talked for a good while and he began confiding in me. I’m not gonna go into detail because that’s shitty, but he basically told me he’d never had a positive sexual experience up to that point. Apparently all of his exes were switches leaning submissive and he’s purely submissive, so things never really worked out and he never finished with any of them.

I told him about me and my wife’s arrangements and some other stuff about our sex life. (Don’t worry, my wife is 100% okay with this. Even in this context.)

Here’s where I might be the asshole, if not the creep:

Now, I was pretty high at that point and I joked about how I could give him a positive experience. To my surprise, he actually eagerly accepted. I was a bit hesitant because we were both buzzed, but he kept reiterating that he’s consenting and that he’s sure he wants this. So, I made sure he had a good night and he actually ended up sleeping over and we cuddled. It was super nice and he seemed genuinely ecstatic about it the next morning, it was adorable. I was honestly just happy that I was able to give him a positive sexual encounter.

We exchanged numbers, kept texting for two days and he ended up coming over again. Had some more fun together and he went to go sleep over at a friend’s place. At that point, I sort of realized that I may be catching feelings for him. Which is against me and my wife’s rules and also just a horrible idea, especially considering the age gap. So, I let him know that I need some distance and he was super understanding. He was understandably a bit disappointed but didn’t complain or anything.

Once my wife came back, I told her about everything. This is just a thing we do because it helps avoid speculation and unnecessary jealousy. We always tell each other about what happens with our other sexual partners, but only if they consent to it. Which most of them do because they’re our friends. She seemed a bit unnerved by it, not because of the fact that I had feelings for him, but because of the age difference. She said it’s weird and predatory and told me she needed some time to think.

Apparently, she went to go check in on M and asked him if I pressured him into anything. He said it was a 100% mutual thing and he’s very much into older guys, so he enjoyed it quite a lot.

This put her mind at ease but I’m still quite shaken by it. I never stopped to consider the fact that the age difference is quite concerning. I can’t help but feel like a nasty creep that bribed some poor 20 year with old band shirts to come sleep with him. I don’t like that I didn’t even think about it. Talking with M came so easy and we share a lot of interests. I’m not about to go and say he’s 'mature for his age' because he isn’t, he acts like any other 20 year old.

I was just so focused on how attractive and interesting he is to me, I fear I might’ve acted extremely selfish and should’ve stopped to take his lack of experience and his naivety into account. Of course he’d sleep with me, he’s 20 and doesn’t know any better. It should’ve been my job, as the older adult, to put a stop to it. Please don’t hesitate to give it to me straight.

AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[infamous-if]

would u be willing to post seven's internal monologue?? pretty please just for us??? 😳

So sorry I don't mean to write all my characters with such sad internal monologues that's just what I tend to gravitate to 😢 hope it's not a problem

I shouldn’t be here. 

That thought follows them outside the car. It follows them down the street. To the Heavenly Isle lot. To the entrance. To the dancing crowd.

Their logic is practically yelling at them to turn around by the time they’re becoming one with the audience, shouldering dancing bodies as they maneuver through the human current, keeping one eye on the stage. The singer of the band on stage belts out lyrics to their song, baring their soul as they relay a love letter to an unrequited love, Annabelle. The subject of the track.

Seven clears their throat, oddly uncomfortable, before finding a relatively empty spot in the crowd.

Seven’s bandmates join them a moment later, crowding around the circular standing table by the edge of the crowd. Seven senses a few eyes on them. They brace themself for someone to ask for an autograph, even a picture, but loosen up when no one does. Good. Let them be a ghost. Let their image disappear. Let them cease to exist. Just for this one night. 

They just need this one night. 

“Why are we here?” Pope whines, going as far as stomping his feet. “We ditched a rager to watch BOTB auditions? We already won.”

Seven stares ahead, expression unchanging as the singer dives into a bridge full of confession and regret.  It was just last week they were up on that very stage, auditioning for the chance of a lifetime, singing lyrics just as raw. Just as vulnerable. 

Oddly enough, Seven wasn’t even half as nervous then as they are tonight.

“It’s good to get to know our competition,” Seven replies, surprising themself with how casual they sound. It’s funny, really. There’s nothing casual about their appearance tonight. 

They feel eyes on them and they meet Avina’s gaze, who shoots a pointed look at the table. Seven looks down, finding that their hand is tapping relentlessly against it. They turn it into a fist, shoving it in the pocket of their plaid shirt, hating how observant their friend is. 

“Our competition?” Keiran asks, doing a perusal himself. “When did you become so”—they make a vague gesture with their hands—“involved?”

Seven clenches their jaw. “Is it a crime to want to win? If you want to slack off this competition, be my guest, but you’re not doing it in this fucking band.”

Kieran’s brows lift. 

Seven shuts their eyes. “Sorry, that—“ They huff. “I didn’t mean that.”

Pope shoots Seven an odd look. “Why are you—“ Even beneath the dimly lit mezzanine that shakes with the weight of the dancers, Seven can see the dawn of their realization clearly. “Oh. Oh. I get it now.” 

“Get what?” Kieran prompts, whipping his head back and forth in search of an answer. “Get what? What?”

“Seven didn’t come here to scope out the competition.” A teasing smile grows on his face. “Well, they did. One competitor in particular.” 

Seven shuts their eyes as Kieran lets out a child-like ‘ohhhhh.’

“Pope,” Avina sighs out, staring at Seven with a trace of worry on their face. Which makes it worse. “Stop it.” 

Pope raises his hands in surrender. Kieran has enough decency to pat Seven supportively on the back. 

“The pain we reap. The lives we seek. Would you bury me with the rest of your past misdeeds?”

Seven looks around, soaking in the dancing crowd. Are they listening? Truly listening? Do they resonate with the pain of the singer? 

Do they care?

That’s one of Seven’s biggest problems as an artist; having to deal with the fact that sometimes a song is just a song. That for Seven, it could be their whole heart on a track. And for others it could just be another three minutes to escape. 

Seven briefly wonders if they watched their performance. Would they have listened to the lyrics Seven wove in the quietest hours of the night, catered specifically for them? Would they have understood?

Seven clears their throat, shaking away the thoughts just as Donny, the host, comes up on stage. The next few minutes melt together in a blur of cheering and conversations Seven hardly hears. 

Because they’re there. Right there. And Seven has lost all grip on reality. Any sense of self. For a moment, it almost feels like a dream. 

If only they cared a little less.

They feel an arm on them and look up to see Avina smiling. “Howdy, partner.”

Seven faces ahead, watching as (MC) and the band takes their places on stage. Their eyes track MC’s every move, as though MC is in danger of disappearing. Isn’t that what they did the first time? “Hi,” they say finally. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Avina says. The lights dim, signaling the start of the song. “You can just leave.”

“I know,” Seven clears their throat, “but I can’t.”

Avina says nothing to that, instead choosing to face ahead. Pope and Kieran come closer, whispering to each other as the first notes of the song start. 

MC’s voice is just as Seven remembered. Smooth. Hypnotizing. They hate that it still gives them chills. Hate that MC still has that kind of power over them and their body. 

As the crowd becomes increasingly excited, Seven’s will to stay weakens. The lyrics are too close. Too real and watching MC up there cuts a bit too deep. Seven wants to care a little less? No—they don’t want to care at all. They wish they could wash MC off them like filth. Strip memories of their scent, forget the way they laugh, strike out every memory with a marker like some failed lyric in one of their notebooks. Just erase it all until there’s nothing left. 

And it’s in that moment, while Seven is thinking up every twisted metaphor, that MC notices them. 

A stifled sound they didn’t know they could make crosses their throat. MC eyes pierce through them as if Seven were made of glass. That’s surely how they feel right now—delicate and liable to break. 

MC’s voice pitches upon the realization and they look around, as if to check if anyone noticed. No one does. But Seven did. Seven always does. 

It’s then that Seven answers their own question. If you heard my song, would you understand? They know MC would, because this is not just music to them. Their songs used to be another language. It was the way they laughed, the way they knew what the other was thinking with one kiss. The way they touched and danced and did nothing at all under the pulsing lights of the stars on their mom’s roof. 

And it’s all gone. 

“This was a mistake,” Seven whispers to Kieran, hating how choked their voice sounds. Despite their earlier humor, Kieran remains grave when they nod.

Seven doesn’t have to say anything else. Their friends know instantly. Just like what Seven had with MC, they have their own language. This is how it is—you move on by finding something else. By burying the past with the Seven they killed the night they decided to leave. 

Seven gives themself ten seconds. Ten seconds to allow themselves to feel. Then, once the ten seconds are up, they imagine themself scribbling this moment out like a song in a journal, doing so dark enough that even the most painful moments can’t been seen under the messy wall of black. 

They turn around and walk through the crowd. They don’t look back. 

[thatstoomanysausages]

I’ve been holding back on this headcanon for too long and I think I’ll explode if I don’t write it down somewhere.

SO. We know that Grian has the Widow Curse - in which he will ultimately end up killing his allies, or contributing help towards said allies’ deaths (and I’m purposely avoiding referring to it as the Icarus Curse simply because it doesn’t match up for this hc).

So what animal does the word ‘widow’ remind you of? For me, I instantly think a widow spider. And that’s what this post is basically exploring.

When characters are assigned a hybrid status, you will usually see physical traits that relate.

But Grian already has wings as he is always going to remain some kind of winged creature in my head - to divert from that is basically impossible in my head. That makes his back a very cluttered set of extra limbs if we’re deciding to include the extra four legs to add up to eight, and although that idea may sound rough to think about in terms of coherent design, I couldn’t give a fuck because having countless extra limbs that a normal player should not have is ultimate eldritch energy, which I think we can all agree that Grian exudes by default.

Basically, this is me giving Grian the most disturbing and unimaginable designs possible while still looking vaguely human (???).

Then we go onto the eyes, spiders have many eyes, eight to be exact, which ties very neatly into Grian being a Watcher. Lots of eyes to Watch, so really nothing changes much other than the fact that there are multiple eyes on Grian’s face all the time, and not just when he Watches.

Another thing that makes sense by default is that, like many animals in the wild, the males are smaller than the females by about half an inch. He’s short.

AND ODDLY ENOUGH, (though this one is more specific for Limited Life) widow spiders have a red-orange hour glass shape on their abdomens. And who is in charge of timing the sessions, with announcing halftime breaks, with deciding the end of the session, therefore stopping time/the sand in the hourglass from falling??? THIS ELDRITCH-SPIDER-WATCHER-AVIAN (+wither if I insert another one of mind melting headcanons in) THING!!!!

THESE SPIDERS ARE VENOMOUS, GRIAN IS VENOMOUS TO THOSE AROUND HIM!!!! THIS SHIT WRITES ITSELF!!!

ALSO!!!!: “habitat: will build irregular, erratic webs in quiet undisturbed areas” After three games - after the curse has been officially solidified - where does he build his bases? A deserted and oddly empty mansion, and a quiet hilltop. What do his bases look like? An odd bridge along with a tall grid above the server to Watch from, no set shape for the base ever. And then an erratically built abstract staircase leading to nowhere and an irregular second base shaped as an egg (spiders lay eggs guysssss).

AND FINALLY: “Despite their venom, black widows are typically non-aggressive” Grian is not one of the openly hostile players like maybe Martyn or Joel, he stays back and fights if necessary or entertaining.

Oh and how Spider of Grian to lure his prey into his web, to care for them until they get caught and stuck, and they can do nothing but wait for Grian’s venom to sink in, not even knowing that what they were stepping into was simply a trap set by Fate, who also goes by Other Names.

[antlerqueer]

If the YJ girlies were high schoolers in the late 00s-10s, this is what their Tumblrs would be like:

Shauna Shipman would run an aesthetic and HP/general YA lit fandom blog, with quotes and stuff photoshopped onto Galaxy images she got off Google and triangles. Original poetry on a side blog.

Misty Quigley runs the team's unofficial blog that no one follows except like Jackie, and Van to send screenshots to Taissa in a mean way. Shauna blocked her the moment she made it.

Mari runs an attempt at a gossip blog. Unfortunately most of her Intel is wrong and no one likes the blog. She's found out pretty quickly because she mostly writes nice things about Jackie but everyone else (especially her teammates) get weird oddly specific posts. She's better on Twitter, with her anonymous Barb fan account.

Jackie Taylor mostly reblogs Shauna's stuff, even though she doesn't understand it. She also reblogs pro ana content and doesn't realize what it is because she thinks the flowers and satin and silk and half naked girls are pretty. Lots of dorm room inspo pics, sorority aspiration stuff.

Taissa Turner is the queen of studyblr. She also reblogs aesthetic stuff and fandom stuff. Plus a gay side blog only Van knows about.

Van Palmer only has a Tumblr to lurk on Misty's blog and reblog vintage gay shit.

Lottie Matthews pretends she doesn't have one but runs an emo girl Tumblr.

Crystal/Kristen runs one dedicated to musicals, obviously.

Natalie Scatorccio runs dark aesthetic cigarette girlie American Apparel emo Tumblr, follows Lottie but doesn't know it's Lottie, and also posts vague diary-esque posts about her drug use. No one knows she has a blog, but Shauna follows her.

[the-elder-beato]

so I've been going through umineko again for a project i'm working on and it got me thinking about how masterfully the hints and foreshadowing regarding the true culprit and the overall mystery are sprinkled throughout almost every line of dialogue. and like duh it's a mystery story so of course there's gonna be foreshadowing, but it's also hard to strike a good balance with being too obvious that it no longer becomes subtle or being so vague that the reveals feel like they came out of nowhere

looking back on so much of the dialogue even in chapters 1 and 2, so much of it had me practically screaming at myself "how did you miss this the first time through?!" but at the same time, i can totally see how certain details flew over my head given the context the story being told is presented in.

gonna post some specific examples under the cut because one of my good friends is currently reading through it and i don't want to ruin it for him. SPOILERS FOR ALL OF UMINEKO BELOW

a pretty major one that a lot of people bring up is the constant mention of sickly sweet smells coming from kinzo's study as well as the oddly poisonous looking drinks that he partakes in that are bad for his health. this is probably referring both to the odor of kinzo's corpse itself and the preservatives genji and the others are using to prevent it from becoming obvious to the others in the mansion that don't know of his death

but the other things that stuck out to me are the fact that when krauss goes up to his door to do the whole song and dance of pretending that kinzo is in too much of a bad mood to leave his study and see the family during the conferences, he often ends these scenes with a sly smile on his face before handing kinzo off to genji or nanjo, two people who are also responsible for keeping up the charade

This is from one of the earliest scenes in chapter 1 like jesus christ. even ignoring how obvious the "my dad is already dead" line is in hindsight, those coy, knowing smiles he gives are practically screaming that this guy is putting on a show for the other siblings. but on a blind viewing, you could easily wave it off as krauss just having grown tired of trying to make the effort to get his rambling father to come out for like the 3rd family conference in a row and all he can do it laugh it off bitterly

a very similar version of this charade is shown in episode 2 as well, with yet another line with a double meaning that hints to kinzo's real fate. i honestly kind of find it amusing picturing these grown men pounding on the door to their dead father's study, yelling at a volume probably loud enough to reach the rest of the family downstairs to sell the bit even more

these lines also from episode 2 though. holy shit, ryukishi is pretty much giving the answer away here. granted, you can definitely interpret this on a first pass as natsuhi and krauss devising this plan to protect kinzo/their own interests with regards to the inheritance discussion, but the sinister and ominous undertones are there.

speaking of episode 2, it is basically a whole novel's worth of hints towards shannon and kanon's true identities, which makes sense given it's their focus episode alongside episode 6. episode 1 already plants some seeds here and there regarding kanon, what with him somehow always seeming to appear to shannon out of thin air or being described as creeping up on people silently like a cat

one of the biggest hints that most people discuss is how the detective, battler, who is supposed to have an objective view on the proceedings (at least before erika takes over in 5-6) never seems to see shannon and kanon together at the same time when he is present. what keeps up the illusion is the many other scenes sprinkled throughout that take place through other character's POVs where we are shown the two interacting together, particularly with genji and kumasawa. we aren't given any indication this early on that the narration absent of battler isn't to be trusted or is hiding details from us, i don't think until knox's rules are introduced in the answer arcs, so this is a pretty brilliant way of hiding the truth of their characters but without making it feel as if the viewer was completely lied to in hindsight

the fact that jessica is saying this to kanon of all people. oh my god. it's so painful. all of the flashback scenes of shannon and george and jessica and kanon are so sad to watch. sayo is not only struggling with the fact that she's fallen in love with another man while waiting for battler to come back, not only struggling with the realization that she's bisexual when she starts having feelings for jessica, not only struggling with the constant reminders from george that he wants to have many children and grandchildren after she finds out that she will never be able to conceive...

she's now come to a crossroads where (in this world at least) she has to decide whether or not she'll give up hope of battler ever returning and pledge herself to george, while breaking jessica's heart as kanon. and battler coming back after 6 years just throws all of that out the window

this one might just be me overthinking, but i'm curious if anyone else has a similar interpretation. these two batches of dialogue occur in the same scene, the second coming after "kanon" shows up to once again vent out "shannon's" feelings of frustration and anger towards the ushiromiyas. at first it would seem that her lamentation about wanting to be rescued continues directly from the previous string of thoughts, and that she's referring to george again. but the use of quotation marks around "him" the second time around really make me think that this must refer to battler.

the fact that she considers this a sin even moreso feels like it points to battler to me, her sin being the fact that she's still thinking of him in the first place while wanting a relationship with george. she wants to pursue these new feelings with george, but in her mind it would also be weakness on her part to give up on the promise she and battler made together by forgetting about him and moving on. she wants someone on a white horse to come save her, and the thought that this person has changed to being george is tearing her up inside. she doesn't deserve rescue from either of them, in her mind. it's so fucking sad

and the final one for now, since i've only gotten through the first two episodes for this rewatch. i remember thinking back to all the deaths from the previous chapters when faced with the challenge of figuring out who the true culprit was, and just my jaw dropping to the floor when i remembered this detail from turn of the golden witch. none of the other victims of the stakes had them fall out, they were gouged in deeply, but shannon's alone had fallen off to the side.

and of course rosa (the co-conspirator of the episode) conveniently blocks her body off before battler can examine it further and give an objective detective's view of the state of the body. if he was able to, he probably would have been able to see that the hole in shannon's forehead was made by a gunshot wound and not the stake.

not to mention kanon's body just disappearing entirely. episode 2 is where we really start to get introduced to the magic realm and its explanation of events, so it's easy to get sucked into that and go along with the whole "beatrice desecrated him after death by not even allowing him the closure of being a corpse for the rest to discover" but man, it is so crazy how well the pieces fit together once you know the truth. it was simply easier at this stage of the game for sayo to shed the kanon persona entirely so she could move more freely as shannon.

at this point, she had probably given up on battler solving the riddle in this fragment/bottle after his full on mental breakdown in the servant's room following rosa's cold accusations and lack of trust in everyone else. sayo would have planned to die by the end regardless, but this final locked room trick was probably her last ditch effort to give battler a clue as to what was happening, but again this was foiled by rosa barring him from looking closer at the crime scene

anyway that was a lot of rambling about stuff people have probably already discussed to death in the years since umineko's release. but damn i just really, really marvel at ryukishi's ability to write such an intricately written story that simultaneously had me at a loss for the solution for the majority of its runtime while also making me feel like a fucking idiot for missing all of these obvious clues the first time around, in the best kind of way. this sound novel is a masterpiece and i'm so glad i discovered it

rest in peace sayo, i have no doubt the foreshadowing during my replays of banquet and alliance of the golden witch are going to tear my heart asunder once again </3

[cha-melodius]

Oh my goodness, I've just seen your fic festival request post and am excited to sneak in to participate before it closes. I love your writing and your stories so very much!

My prompt suggestion is... firstprince in Edinburgh, Scotland... in particular, the Edinburgh pride parade (if I may be so oddly specific). AU welcome, canon welcome, makeouts welcome, ahem.

Thank you and good luck wrangling everyone's prompts!

(Firstly, I have to say I love your url and your profile pic! Secondly, this is heavier on the Pride and lighter on the Edinburgh as far as the details go, but I hope it delights. Inspired in part by a tweet shared on tumblr; rated M for dick jokes. Happy Bisexual Awareness Week!)

Something To Be Proud Of

(firstprince, 3.3k, M; read it below or on AO3) read all the fandom fest fics

Henry stares at the carbon copy of the email in his inbox and wills time to go backwards. Just a few minutes, that’s all he needs. Enough time to go back and keep autocorrect from transforming whatever he’d typed after ‘he’ in his pronouns after his name into… that.

Thank you so much for all your help. Together we can make this a truly exceptional Edinburgh Pride. Regards, Henry Fox (he/hung Sent from Outlook for iOS.

How had he not seen it before he hit send on an email going out to every volunteer on their mailing list? How had he not noticed?

Maybe no one else would notice either. No one looks at email signatures that closely, right?

~~~~~

Ok, he’s not delusional enough to think that no one noticed. He had, however, naively believed that everyone would recognise it for what it was and politely ignore his gaff. He gets away scot free for a few days, and then, at the end of an email sent by a volunteer that is mostly as expected, he sees:

Best, Alex (he/him) PS: not sure I did the pronouns right. Does ‘Pride’ over here include being proud of your big dick?

It’s a damned good thing that he wasn’t taking a sip of his tea at the time, or he might be wearing it instead. Once he’s finished choking on nothing and perhaps isn’t quite the colour of a tomato (oh, who is he kidding, of course he still is), Henry professionally answers Alex’s questions about the schedule for the day of the march. He pauses before the sign off, wondering if he should acknowledge the flub or pretend it never happened. In the end, he writes:

Regards, Henry (he/him) PS: Your pronouns look correct to me, but they are, of course, your choice.

He only checks the email about ten times before he sends it. Hopefully, that should be the end of it.

~~~~~

It’s not.

Apparently, Alex has more questions. Apparently the law firm he works for is one of this year’s sponsors and is interested in potentially running a free legal clinic associated with the festival. A noble endeavour, which Henry is only too happy to assist with. He makes a mental note to look into logistics with Kate, the event’s chair, and continues reading. Finding out that Alex is apparently mature enough to be a lawyer lulls him into a false sense of security, though. At the tail of the email, he finds:

PS: regardless of the size of your dick, I’m impressed by the balls it takes to not acknowledge the typo. Then again, maybe it wasn’t? PPS: I’m trying out new pronouns. How do you think (daddy/sir) would go over?

Henry does spit his tea all over his phone this time.

He doesn’t email Alex back right away, but that’s because he has to wait to hear back from Kate. It has nothing to do with the fact that the prospect of dragging this interaction out longer is both horrifying and vaguely thrilling. Henry has noticed that he uses Americanised spellings in his text, which seems to fit with his general demeanour. It piques Henry’s curiosity, even though the thought of actually having to face Alex in person still makes him flush automatically. Eventually he gets an email from Kate that includes additional questions for the firm, as well as telling him that he can pass it off to someone in sponsor coordination. He is, after all, just the volunteer coordinator for the march. This need not involve him.

He still emails Alex back with the questions. And:

PS: Although I support your creativity, I am concerned those pronouns may not be appreciated in a professional setting such as, for instance, a court of law. Just a thought. However, I do suspect they might be rather popular at Pride.

~~~~~

They keep on exchanging emails, even though Henry should have sent Alex’s contact info to sponsor coordination ages ago, even though it becomes clear that Alex is not the one who will be ultimately responsible for the clinic either. On every one, there is a postscript in which Alex makes some kind of joke about the size of Henry’s dick.

do you have to get all your pants specially made with extra room in the crotch

do you have to check your dick as luggage when you fly

have you ever used it as a tripod

is your dick in another time zone

do you call your dick Sir Richard because it’s that prominent

In turn, Henry responds as dryly as possible, which only seems to encourage him. Oddly for someone who is volunteering at the event, Alex seems to have a lot of questions about Pride itself, as though this is the first one he’s attending on any continent. They exchange emails almost right up to the day of the march itself, but if they do taper off, Henry is too busy to notice. Coordinating volunteers for something as big as Edinburgh Pride is intense, and the days tick by before he even knows it.

He’s standing off to the side at the volunteer check-in tent on the morning of the march, going over some last minute logistics with one of his staff, when a voice carries over the hubbub, deep and rich with an out-of-place American accent.

“Sorry, but I was hoping… is Henry here?”

Henry straightens up and turns toward the voice only to find perhaps the most stunning man he’s ever seen standing at the front table. Dark, curly hair, a sharp jaw, big brown eyes with the longest eyelashes Henry has ever seen— he’s actually impossibly beautiful. Unbelievable, really. As is the fact that he’s asking for Henry.

“Hello,” Henry says as he walks over to the front. “How can I help you?”

The man’s eyes snap over to him, and he very clearly looks Henry up and down and swears, “Jesus fuck,” under his breath. Then his eyes come back up to Henry’s face, and he swallows. “You’re not Scottish.”

Henry cocks an eyebrow at him. “Neither are you.”

“Yeah, sorry. I just— need to adjust what you sound like in my head,” he says nonsensically. “I’m Alex?”

Oh.

Oh, Christ.

Henry should have known, because how many other Americans could there be volunteering at Edinburgh Pride? That reality does nothing to help him cope with the situation presented before him, though, in which this is the man who’s been teasing him about the size of his dick for the last month.

“I, uh,” he says eloquently as he tries to pull himself together. There are far too many people standing around watching this exchange. “Hello. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Did your firm get everything sorted with the clinic?”

“Oh,” Alex says, blinking. “Yeah, thanks. Look, I’m sure you’re busy, but I have something for you?”

It kind of comes out as a question, and he’s scratching the back of his head uncertainly, so even though Henry has no idea what’s coming, he nods. Then Alex reaches into his pocket, fishes out something small and round, and places it on the table between them.

It’s a button. A pronoun button, not unlike the one Henry’s already wearing, but instead it reads: he/hung.

Henry’s eyes snap up to find Alex grinning at him with the kind of mischief that Henry honestly should have expected from him sparkling in his eye. “Wanted to make sure you were prepared,” he says with a little one-shouldered shrug. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Then he takes his volunteer t-shirt and saunters off—and Christ those jeans are ridiculously tight and doing everything for his arse—leaving Henry gawping after him. A moment later, one of his regular volunteers, Robin, bustles by, catches sight of the button, and lets out a sound that can only be described as a cackle.

“My god, it’s perfect,” they say. “Did he really make this for you?”

Henry can only sigh, dragging a hand over his face. “It appears so. Robin, can you do me a favour?”

“Make sure you’re working the same stations all day?” they surmise. Henry doesn’t need to look to imagine the knowing grin on their face.

Henry wants to say no. Just because Henry’s already managed to combine the affection engendered by their previous email conversations with Alex’s stunning good looks into a powerfully intoxicating cocktail of a crush—well, that’s on Henry and his poor decision-making.

Instead, he says: “Yes, exactly that.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~

Alex had only signed up to volunteer at Pride on a whim. He’s always complaining that he doesn’t know anyone in Edinburgh outside of his coworkers, and one such coworker—someone that he could safely call a friend—suggested that getting involved in the festival would be a good way to meet people. Alex had tried to explain that he wasn’t actually queer, but she’d just given him an odd look and told him that allies were welcome at Pride too. It had felt a little weird signing up despite her assurances, but also kind of good. He was finally going get out there and have a life beyond his job.

He certainly hadn’t expected to strike up a prolonged email exchange with the volunteer coordinator, Henry. He also doesn’t really know why he kept finding excuses to send him new messages, except for Henry’s responses to Alex’s stupid jokes made Alex imagine him rolling his eyes and trying not to laugh, which only egged Alex on further. It was fun. That’s all.

Nothing about any of this made him prepared to show up to the volunteer check-in tent  today and be plunged directly into a sexuality crisis. But that seems to be exactly what’s currently happening now that he’s been confronted by quite possibly the hottest man he’s ever seen. Alex doesn’t even get it because it’s not like he hasn’t been able to objectively appreciate attractive men before, and blond hair and blue eyes have historically never really done it for him. Even if they are combined with swooping cheekbones, and broad shoulders, and obscenely full, pink lips.

All he knows is that as much as this doesn’t make sense, it also suddenly does. Why he’d felt drawn to sign up in the first place. Why he spent the last month reading about the history of Pride in Edinburgh and around the world. Why he’d gone on a deep dive doing research about different sexualities, brushing it off as wanting to be informed before meeting new people.

Why he was so obsessed with Henry’s dick.

Jesus fuck.

He thinks he manages to hold a short conversation. Somehow he even gives Henry the custom button he brought as a joke, smiling the whole time like he’s not moment’s away from dropping to his knees. He flees the table safe in the knowledge that Henry will likely be too busy coordinating stuff all day and Alex probably won’t see him again. That confidence is shattered when, not even an hour later, Henry shows up at the station Alex is supposed to be working. He’s even wearing the joke button, under his regular pronoun button and next to a little rainbow flag pin. Alex is going to die.

“Oh hey,” Alex says in a reasonable facsimile of nonchalance. “Did you need me for something?”

“Not exactly,” Henry replies. “I’ll be working this station too.”

Yeah, Alex is definitely not going to make it through the day.

~~~~~

It actually turns out to be not as bad as he feared, despite how Henry’s volunteer t-shirt is probably a size too small (never mind that in the context of everyone else at Pride he looks downright conservative) and Alex keeps getting caught staring at his shoulders or his back or his waist. Henry keeps on giving him weird looks at the beginning, probably because he’s expecting Alex to be cracking crude jokes. Too bad Alex is way too wound up in his own head to think of anything at all.

They’re pretty busy all day, but they do get a chance to chat occasionally, mostly small talk stuff about jobs and how they both ended up in Edinburgh. Henry is there for grad school, apparently, and has been volunteering for Pride since he moved out from under his grandmother’s restrictive shadow. In turn, Alex tells him about applying for the law job on a whim, desperate to set himself apart from his parents, and how much he likes Edinburgh (despite the weather). As the day stretches on and the streets fill up, Alex feels himself relaxing into his skin again, undeniably enjoying the festivities as well as Henry’s company.

See, the other thing he never, ever expected is how good it feels to be here. All the people around him loudly comfortable in themselves, and the color and glitter and celebration— it’s amazing, but it’s not just that he’s watching other people be happy. There’s a kind of ecstatic joy that bubbles up inside him at the fact that he’s part of it, one that he feels down to his bones. A sense of belonging that he’s never really experienced before, and that, more than anything else, makes him more certain of his newfound revelation.

Straight people probably don’t feel like this at Pride.

At the end of the day, he’s helping pack up the main volunteer tent when he comes across a table full of pins depicting different pride flags. He dimly remembers seeing them when he’d checked in and thinking that none of them applied to him. Now, he stares down at them and bites his lower lip uncertainly.

“There’s a box for those under the table,” Henry tells him from across the tent, misinterpreting his hesitation.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Alex says, and Henry’s already turning back to whatever he’s doing when he manages to continue, “Hey, can I— um, can I take one of these?”

Henry stops, his brow creasing as he tips his head slightly. “Of course. That’s what they’re there for.”

“Right, thanks,” Alex says with a tight smile.

He puts his hand out, hesitates, then picks up one with pink, purple, and blue stripes. Stares down at it for another moment before he realizes he’s probably being weird and he’s pretty sure Henry is still watching him. He swallows hard, then pins it to his shirt next to his pronoun button.

No one jumps out to call him out for being an impostor. Henry offers him a careful smile, then turns back to his work like he knows Alex needs a moment to himself. He lets his fingers rub over the surface of the pin, feeling the little enamel ridges, and something settles under his skin, like an itch he hadn’t even been aware of until it was gone.

He feels almost normal by the time Henry walks up to him once they’re finished and everything is packed away in someone’s car.

“Thanks so much for your help today,” Henry says. 

“It was my pleasure,” Alex replies, and means it more than he can say. “I’m really glad I decided to sign up.”

“I realize you may very well be tired of my face at this point, but if you don’t already have plans, I was wondering if you’d like to go get a drink?”

Alex would like to make a joke about how it might be literally impossible to get tired of Henry’s face, but at this point he’d probably fuck up and confess his undying love for a guy he just met. “Sounds great,” he says instead, looking around at where a few of the other volunteers are lingering nearby. “Do y’all usually all go out together afterward?”

Henry coughs slightly and glances down at the ground for a few seconds as his cheeks turn faintly pink. “Well yes, a group of them usually do. But I was actually asking if you wanted to go out with me,” he says. “Just the two of us.”

“Oh,” Alex breathes as his stomach decides to do a backflip. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Spending all day volunteering with Henry was fun. Going on a date with Henry, being the sole focus of his attention, is intoxicating. Alex feels like he could sit here all night listening to Henry talk about his research on queer history, although that’s far from the only thing they talk about. As the night wears on and the pub slowly empties, Alex is buzzing with a few drinks and the euphoria of really clicking with someone, already wondering when would be too soon to ask Henry out again.

Henry shifts slightly so his legs press against Alex’s where they’re tangled together under the table—have been for several hours, actually. He’s playing with the stirrer in his empty glass, and a little teasing smirk sneaks onto his lips as he looks up at Alex.

“So you made me a custom pronoun button but forgot your own?”

“Ah, you know,” Alex replies with a shit-eating grin and a one-shouldered shrug, “thought it would be too distracting, what with how everyone would be hitting on me all day.”

Henry hums thoughtfully, biting back a wider smile. “If you wanted to avoid that, you probably should have chosen some looser trousers.”

“That’s fair. I suppose you had to go for the room in yours.” Alex pauses a beat. “You know, on account of the size of your dick.”

That makes Henry actually laugh and shake his head fondly. “I was waiting all day for that.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Alex says, chuckling along with him. It does feel like he owes Henry something of an explanation of why he was so weird all day. He looks down and licks his lips. “Can I confess something?”

“Of course,” Henry answers with a small, encouraging smile.

“A friend of mine suggested I volunteer for this because I wanted to meet people. Make new friends. But until today I actually thought I was… mostly straight?” Alex admits, trying not to wince as he stares fixedly into his empty glass. “Being part of this made me realize why I always felt a little like I wasn’t my whole self. So I was… kind of going through it a bit today.” He pauses, then adds, “Also you’re so ridiculously fucking hot that you kind of melted my brain.”

Henry laughs again, but it’s softer this time. Gentle. Alex kind of wants to sink into the sound. Henry’s cheeks are slightly pink as he extends a hand across the table, and Alex doesn’t hesitate before he slides his hand into Henry’s and links their fingers together.

“I’m glad to hear that, Alex,” Henry says. “I mean, the feeling like your whole self part. Not the brain melting part,” he adds, and Alex can’t help but laugh with him.

Henry doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk outside, and once they’re alone on the sidewalk he uses it to pull Alex close. He puts a hand on Alex’s hip and Alex has to tip his head up to look at him, and it’s a lot but he’s also pretty sure he’s never wanted anything more than to feel Henry’s lips pressed against his.

“I have a confession too,” Henry murmurs as he stares down into Alex’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since the very first moment I saw you.”

Alex lets one corner of his mouth tug upwards. “What’s stopping you, baby?”

“Christ, Alex,” Henry breathes, looking momentarily overwhelmed, but then he’s pressing his lips to Alex’s, and Alex feels his blood sing. It’s brief and chaste and leaves him aching for more, but then Henry looks down at him with heavy lidded eyes and asks, “Given your recent personal revelations, would it be terribly forward of me to ask you back to my place?”

“Ask away, sweetheart,” Alex replies, then he reaches up to touch the side of the ridiculous he/hung button that Henry is still wearing for some reason. “I wanna find out how accurate this button is.”

(It doesn’t take long for him to find out that the answer is: extremely.)

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen 

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death 

Full tags/warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

‎‧₊˚✧ Chapter 7 ✧˚₊‧

Satoru watched carefully as the three second years, the four third years, and the two fourth years were briefed on the school goodwill event. He knew all of them from before of course, but somehow he hadn't remembered what happened to them. With the slow rising of curse activity over the years, a few of them had died and he was pretty sure one of them gave up the life completely.

The two fourth years were Tadao Miyasato and Yūdai Mori. He remembered specifically that Mori could increase his size and fought like a hulking beast. Miyasato though, he couldn't quite remember. He had some sort of technique that worked well with a teammate but he was largely useless alone.

The third years were Chiyoko Kagawa, Toshio Nishimura, Satoshi Hano, and Yuichi Itoh. He barely remembered them at all either. As far as he could recall their techniques weren't all that impressive to him, but then again back then nothing was.

Takao Tsutsui and Shou Kuwahara were two of the second years but the third was oddly missing. He remembered vaguely that his last name was Murano but not even what he looked like. Upon pondering it a little longer he did recall that Murano was sickly but his technique was interesting.

None of them were people he'd ever called friends or even took an interest in. From day one he was already well known, but most of them had distanced themselves from him immediately. That suited him just fine back then. He'd been so arrogant that he likely said some pretty awful stuff, not that he wasn't arrogant still. Even though Sukuna had sliced his ass in half he knew he still was the strongest. That wouldn't change.

Suguru and Shoko sat beside him on the steps as the others were introduced to the Kyoto students. As usual, the first years weren't allowed to participate, but Suguru had insisted they go to at least watch.

"It's Hano," Suguru said quietly, "The second year? He's also a cursed spirit manipulator like me."

Satoru nodded as he sized up Hano. Once Suguru had reminded him it flooded back to him. Hano had been the one that was so angry with Satoru when he pointed out that he could never be a special grade even though Suguru was. That was of course because he couldn't extract techniques the way that Suguru could, but he also hadn't explained any of that. He'd just taken the opportunity to be an ass and take an older sorcerer down a peg.

"I'm interested in seeing how he operates," Suguru said with a smile.

"He's not as good as you," Satoru scoffed, but then grinned, "But yeah, maybe you can get some ideas or something."

Across the way he of course saw Utahime and Mei-Mei. Utahime was a third year and Mei-Mei as well. He vaguely recognized some of the others, but they'd never struck him as anyone interesting.

Satoru pursed his lips, deep in thought. Maybe this time he'd take the time to learn who they were. One of the things he'd resolved to change this time was the shortage of sorcerers and at least getting to know them would likely change things. Anything at all would make at least some kind of difference. The butterfly thing, right? That's how time stuff worked?

Satoru, Suguru and Shoko settled in to watch. The first event of the day had just begun: a competition to exorcise as many cursed spirits as possible. The stakes were high, and the atmosphere crackled with tension as both teams fanned out across the forest.

The competition flip-flopped throughout the day. Kyoto would pull ahead, but for every curse exorcised by Kyoto, Tokyo seemed to catch up quickly, the two teams neck-and-neck as the clock ticked down. The air was filled with the sounds of battle—cursed energy crackling, trees splintering, and the distant roars of curses being exorcised.

With minutes left in the competition, Kyoto surged once more, this time with the big one leading the charge directly at the heart of the cursed hotspot. His overwhelming strength allowed him to decimate several powerful curses in quick succession, pushing Kyoto back into the lead. The final bell rang, signaling the end of the first round, and when the results were tallied, Kyoto emerged victorious by a narrow margin.

"Damn!" Satoru huffed, sliding down in his seat, "Can't wait until next year. We'll shit on these kids."

Shoko and Suguru snickered and he snapped his head over, pushing his sunglasses down, "What?"

"You're talking like her," Suguru teased, holding his hand up in front of his mouth like a court lady. Shoko smirked beside him, looking just as smug.

"Huh!?" Satoru furrowed his brow, "What are you suggesting?"

"Nothiiing~ ⁠♪⁠♪"

The competition picked up again, and the Tokyo students were not deterred despite their loss. The next part of the event was where they planned to shine: the one-on-one combat competition. With a sweep of victories in the one-on-one combat, Tokyo reclaimed their honor, the students standing tall as the crowd cheered their hard-fought victory.

With that, Satoru had his opportunity. He dragged Suguru with him, the two of them going to quickly meet as many of the other sorcerers there as possible. As expected, they were wary of him at first. It wasn't often they'd be approached by a sorcerer from one of the big three clans.

Suguru was the key to a good introduction of course. He was so good at talking, so disarmingly charming. It was easy for him to get in good with the others quickly and soon enough at least all the Tokyo students seemed to view the two of them relatively well. Certainly better so far anyway.

However... Utahime...

"Uh, okay?" She looked Satoru and Suguru up and down suspiciously, Mei-Mei standing beside her with a serene smile.

"Uhh, yes well we just wanted to meet our seniors from the other school," Suguru said, surprised enough to stumble over his words.

Utahime crossed her arms, "You're the two special grades, aren't you?"

Suguru nodded, "Yes, we are."

"Well, then," she said, bowing politely, "It's nice to meet you both. I hope we can work well together."

They bowed in return, returning the introduction. They glanced at each other as she quickly turned to leave, apparently having nothing more to say.

"It's like she's hardwired to hate me," Satoru muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, "I didn't even do anything yet..."

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The dim light flickered as Satoru crouched low, his breath barely audible in the quiet, decaying hallway. Shadows danced on the crumbling walls where the eerie silence was interrupted only by the occasional groan of the undead. The zombies in the building were blind, but their hearing was sharp. They seemed to be picking up even the faintest rustle of fabric or scuff of a shoe against the floor.

Satoru's bright eyes gleamed from behind his dark sunglasses, and his usual smirk was absent replaced by a concentrated frown. His objective was simple: a med pack sitting innocently at the far end of the hallway, but between him and it, three zombies loomed shuffling ever so slowly and sensing the faintest vibrations in the air.

He approached the first a towering figure with long, gaunt arms that scraped the walls as it aimlessly swayed. Satoru watched the rhythmic motion of its arms, waiting for the perfect moment to slip beneath them. His steps were silent, so light that even the dust on the floor seemed undisturbed. As the zombie's hand reached high above, he darted forward, ducking under the outstretched arm and freezing in place as it swung back down, just missing his head.

For a moment, he didn’t dare move. The zombie stood still, its head twitching, nostrils flaring as if sensing something nearby. Satoru's grin flickered back onto his face. "Too slow", he thought.

But the next one was trickier. A female zombie stood still as stone near a doorway, unmoving, her head tilted unnervingly to the side. Satoru approached with more caution, his footfalls delicate, barely brushing the creaky floorboards. Yet, as he drew closer, a groan escaped from one of the rotting beams beneath him. The floor creaked, low and long.

The female zombie’s head snapped in his direction, and in an instant, she lunged, moving faster than Satoru had anticipated. He twisted sharply, flattening himself against the wall as she rushed past him, her clawed hands swiping at the air where he'd just been standing.

"Close one," he muttered under his breath, quickly sidestepping before she could react.

The med pack was just within reach now, sitting on the end of a worn desk. Only one more obstacle stood between him and his prize: a small, hunched zombie that seemed less dangerous than the others. It was crawling over the ground, its bony fingers scraping the floor as it searched for any sign of life.

Satoru advanced cautiously, but as he moved, the creature suddenly leapt forward attempting to grab his ankle. He hopped back just in time, the zombie’s fingers missing him by a hair. Its momentum sent it crashing into the side of the desk with a dull thud. The zombie groaned in frustration, its head hitting the desk with a resounding smack before slumping over. Satoru couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

With a light hop, he crossed the last few steps and grabbed the med pack. "Got it!" he shouted, spinning on his heels in triumph.

Instantly, the tension broke, and the zombies around him groaned, stood up straighter, and began to laugh. The long-armed zombie tugged off his face mask and Suguru grinned at him. In the hallway Shoko stretched, cracking her back and dropping her act, while Sarah rubbed her head and crawled out from under the desk.

“Zombie Tag is too easy,” Satoru teased, tossing the bag of chips in the air and catching it, “You guys need to step up your game!”

His friends groaned, but not in the undead way this time. "Next time, we’re adding traps," Shoko huffed, rolling her eyes.

"And I'd still nail it," Satoru sighed, rubbing his nails on his shirt with a smug smile.

Yaga entered the hallway moments later, looking at all of them as he approached and said, "You four. Clear out. We're having the cleaners come and polish the floors."

They groaned together in unison and Satoru whined, "But it's SO hot outside!"

Shoko nodded and added, "And the air conditioner in the dorms isn't working yet!"

Yaga paused then shrugged and said, "Well if it can't be helped I suppose the four of you will have to wax the floors--"

"We were JUST leaving," Satoru said quickly scooping Sarah up under one arm and linking the other with Suguru's to drag him out behind him. Shoko was hot on his tail, nearly shoving him faster outside.

The running swiftly became nearly a crawl as the summer sun beat down on the four of them. Sarah squinted up at the sky and grimaced and Suguru huffed, tying his hair back into a ponytail. Shoko gave up completely and sat under the nearest tree which Satoru quickly joined her under.

"I'm gonna die," Shoko mumbled, "This is it."

"What do you want me to write in your obituary?" Satoru wheezed, rolling his head lazily into his shoulder to look over at her.

"I don't want your stupid ass to write it," she grumbled, shoving his shoulder.

"What can we even do?" Suguru asked, "Does this school even have a pool?"

"Why doesn't it?" Sarah huffed, "Don't like... All schools have to have a pool?"

"I don't think they have to..." Suguru sighed, "But they should..."

"Can we call CPS on them?" Sarah mumbled, "Is that a thing? Child abuse for no pool?"

"Why don't we go find one?" Satoru asked, "There's a bunch of indoor ones aren't there?"

"I don't have a swimsuit or anything though," Sarah said, fanning herself, "I'd have to get one first."

"Well stores have AC," Satoru said, hopping to his feet, "Let's all go, yeah? I'll get one for you."

"Bruh--" Sarah started to argue then sighed, shaking her head in defeat, "Is too hot to even argue with you. Fuck it. Let's go."

The scorching mid-summer sun had left the pavement sizzling and the four friends practically melting as they trudged towards the entrance of the cool air-conditioned store. Satoru was the first to breach the invisible barrier, stepping into the doorway as a blast of icy air hit him full force. He let out a loud, exaggerated sigh, throwing his head back as if the cold air alone had saved his life.

"Ohhh, finally!" he groaned, letting his arms hang limply at his sides.

Sarah followed closely behind, her expression mimicking his dramatic exhaustion. "I second that," she sighed in agreement, slouching forward like a wilted flower, letting the cool breeze from the door blow through her hair.

"You two are such idiots," Shoko muttered, giving each of them a shove to move them further into the store. She marched past them with an unimpressed shake of her head, her expression mostly hidden behind large dark sunglasses.

Suguru strolled in after her, chuckling softly at their theatrics. "You two really need to learn how to handle the heat better," he teased, giving Satoru a playful nudge.

With the refreshing cold air enveloping them, Satoru and Sarah straightened up, grinning. They jogged to catch up with the other two, their exhaustion quickly forgotten in the comfort of the store.

"Alright, swimming suits," Sarah declared as they all looked around at the racks of clothes, scanning the store for the right section.

"Yeah, mine’s pretty much falling apart," Shoko added nonchalantly, brushing her fingers through her short hair as she spotted the swimwear section. Without waiting for the others, she motioned for Sarah to follow. "Come on, let’s get this over with."

Sarah exchanged a quick glance with Satoru, who just shrugged with a smirk. “Good luck,” he said, waving them off.

The two girls quickly disappeared into the nearest store, Shoko leading the way with Sarah by her side, already sifting through the racks.

Suguru lingered behind with Satoru, casting a glance at the store sign. “Honestly, I don’t even need a new one," he said, casually crossing his arms, “Mine’s fine.”

Satoru scoffed and scratched the back of his head. “Same here, I’m good.”

With nothing better to do, the two of them strolled over to a little stand in the shopping center, grabbed a couple of cold drinks, and stepped back outside to sit on a bench near the store entrance. Satoru cracked open his drink with a satisfying hiss, taking a long gulp before slouching back against the bench. Suguru set his bag down on the ground, twisting off the cap of his own drink, taking a thoughtful sip.

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the buzz of the shopping center a low hum around them. The cool drink in Satoru’s hand was a welcome relief from the day’s relentless heat, and he found himself staring absently towards the store window where Sarah and Shoko were now browsing. Sarah held up a swimsuit, showing it to Shoko, who seemed to be giving her opinion, her finger tapping her chin as she considered the option.

Suguru, watching Satoru from the corner of his eye, smirked to himself. His lips curled into a sly, cat-like grin as he noticed the way Satoru’s gaze lingered just a little too long on Sarah. After another quiet sip, he turned his head slightly towards his friend, his expression teasing.

"So," Suguru said, dragging the word out with a hint of mischief, "You gonna tell me, or do I have to guess?"

Satoru blinked, confused, his head turning towards Suguru. "What?"

Suguru raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eye. He didn’t answer right away, instead glancing back toward the store window. “You’ve been staring for a while now.”

Satoru furrowed his brow. “Huh?” he asked, genuinely clueless at first.

Suguru shrugged, leaning back against the bench. “Sarah,” he said simply, the smirk still playing on his lips, “You’ve got a crush, don’t you?”

Satoru blinked again, his confusion deepening before his expression twisted into something between exasperation and amusement. “A crush?” he repeated, incredulous, “On who?”

Suguru chuckled, lifting his drink to his lips before nodding toward the store window. "You know," he said, tipping his head slightly in Sarah’s direction as she showed Shoko yet another swimsuit.

Satoru’s eyes followed Suguru’s gesture, then quickly darted back, a frown tugging at his features. “No way,” he said, shaking his head almost too quickly, “That’s ridiculous.”

Suguru gave a nonchalant shrug, leaning back on the bench as though the conversation didn’t really matter to him. “If you say so,” he muttered, his grin widening.

Satoru, now slightly flustered, took another swig of his drink, letting the cold liquid settle the sudden unease in his chest. His mind wandered again, but not to where Suguru thought it was. Satoru wasn’t thinking about crushes or anything like that. He had been thinking about Sarah’s technique again and what he could do to get her out of the grasp of the higher-ups. No, a crush on a fourteen year old was the last thing his twenty-nine year old brain was considering.

He hated the way the Jujutsu society operated, how they used her potential without regard for her well-being. More than anything he wanted to just make sure her life could be safe and happy with no need to kill herself to bring anyone back. His gaze softened slightly, his thoughts deepening, until he felt Suguru’s eyes on him again.

He shifted uncomfortably and shot Suguru a pointed look. “Seriously, stop,” he muttered.

Suguru’s laughter rang out softly. "Whatever you say, Satoru."

"It's not like that," Satoru sighed, "I just feel so bad for her. I wish we could do something now."

"It's so hard for young sorcerers," Suguru said thoughtfully, "I'm glad she's at least here with us where she can be around others like her. It was so hard to not understand what was happening to me when I was the only one."

Satoru nodded along as Suguru spoke, suddenly thinking of Megumi and Tsumiki. The two of them were probably three and four years old and living alone with Toji. He grimaced at the thought, remembering how relieved Tsumiki had been when he took the two of them in.

His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses and he considered the future events. If Toji were to die now...

"Satoru," Suguru said, shaking his shoulder and breaking his train of thought.

"Mm? Oh, sorry," Satoru said, looking up as his friend stood. He glanced at the store where Shoko and Sarah were walking out, "They done?"

Suguru nodded, "Looks like it."

"Got something good?" Satoru called as he stood up, heading towards them.

"Yeah, thanks," Sarah said, handing him his card back, ".... Thank you."

"No worries," he said, instinctively just reaching out to pat her on the head. She swatted his hand away, but grinned at him anyway.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The doors to the indoor pool burst open with a loud slam, the cool, chlorinated air rushing to greet them. Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and Sarah stormed in like soldiers charging a foreign beach, their wild laughter echoing off the tall walls of the water park. Sunlight streamed in through the wide glass ceiling, casting shimmering reflections across the vast pool and the twisting slides overhead. The sound of rushing water and distant splashes filled the air.

“We’re doing that one first!” Satoru declared, pointing to the biggest slide in the entire park. It towered above the others, winding down in sharp loops and drops. His wide grin was met by Sarah’s equally wild smirk.

“You’re on, Gojo!” Sarah shouted, already sprinting toward the slide’s entrance.

Without missing a beat, Satoru followed, his long legs catching up in no time. “Better hurry up!” he called after her, but she only laughed, elbowing him as they jostled for position.

“I'm going first!” Sarah retorted, shoving his arm as they stumbled toward the staircase leading up to the slide, cackling like kids who’d just been let loose at recess. Their energy was contagious, drawing the eyes of other pool-goers, but neither of them cared.

Meanwhile, Shoko stood at the edge of the pool, hands on her hips, watching them with an exasperated smile. ���Idiots,” she muttered under her breath.

Suguru came up beside her, chuckling as he dropped his towel to the ground. “At least they’re predictable,” he said, shaking his head, “I give them five minutes before someone gets dunked.”

Shoko just laughed, “You’re giving them too much credit.”

They both eased into the cool water, sighing with relief as it soothed their skin from the heat of the day. The water was perfect—cool, clear, and welcoming. They waded to the shallow end, content to float and watch as their friends made fools of themselves.

Satoru and Sarah, now at the top of the slide, leaned over the edge, staring down at the water far below. The height would have made anyone else hesitate, but they were too wrapped up in their competition to care.

“You ready for this?” Satoru asked, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

Sarah grinned, shaking her head at him. “I was born ready, bitch.”

Before either could second guess, they launched themselves onto the slide, speeding down the twisting, turning path at a dizzying pace. Satoru let out a loud whoop as they spun around the sharp corners, water splashing up around them.

They hit the water at nearly the same time with a loud splash, sending waves out in every direction. Sarah surfaced first, laughing as she swam toward Satoru, who had barely managed to right himself.

Without warning, she climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Ha! Got you!” she shouted triumphantly, trying to dunk him under the water. But Satoru, tall and lanky, was having none of it.

“Oh, no you don’t!” he laughed, flipping her over with a quick movement. Sarah landed in the water with a resounding slap, sending a wave up toward the edge of the pool.

Shoko snorted at the sight, glancing at Suguru. “Five minutes,” she muttered, smirking.

Suguru leaned back in the water, crossing his arms lazily and shrugged.

Sarah popped back up, spitting water at him and glaring at Satoru. “You’re so dead, Gojo!” She lunged at him again, but he was already swimming backward, out of her reach.

They scrambled, splashing each other like overgrown children before rushing back toward the slide, shouting and pushing at each other to see who could get there first. Their energy was infectious, drawing laughs from other swimmers as they bolted for round two.

“They’re gonna keep this up all day, aren’t they?” Suguru asked, raising an eyebrow as Satoru and Sarah nearly tripped over each other in their haste to get back to the top of the slide.

Shoko just shrugged, her smile soft. “At least they’re having fun.”

After what felt like their tenth slide race, Satoru and Sarah finally slowed down, both panting and leaning against the edge of the pool. The sun streamed in from above, catching the water as it rippled around them, and for a moment, everything seemed peaceful. But of course, that wasn’t going to last.

"You know what I haven’t done in forever?" Satoru asked, mischief gleaming in his eyes as he turned to Sarah.

She gave him a sideways glance, already catching onto his tone. “What?”

"Chicken fight," Satoru declared, grinning widely.

Sarah rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smirk tugging at her lips. "We're gonna get kicked out of here if we get all worked up."

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Satoru splashed water at her, "Besides, you know I’ll win."

That did it. Sarah’s competitive side flared up instantly. “I'm gonna fuckin' ruin you.”

With newfound energy, they turned to Shoko and Suguru, who were still lounging lazily in the shallow end. "Hey! You two—quit floating around. We're playing chicken!" Satoru demanded, waving them over.

Shoko raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You’re delusional," she said, barely moving from her spot.

Suguru, on the other hand, shrugged and pushed off from the wall, wading over. “Alright, let's go,” He shot a teasing smirk at Satoru.

Suguru crouched down and let Shoko clamber onto his shoulders. She settled in comfortably, crossing her arms as she surveyed Satoru and Sarah with a challenge in her eyes. “You’re done for.”

Meanwhile, Satoru, true to his chaotic self, immediately scrambled to get onto Sarah’s shoulders.

“Hey, what the hell!” Sarah protested, laughing as she braced herself under his weight, “You can’t just—ugh—you’re like a foot taller than me, this is ridiculous!”

Satoru, ever the smug bastard, settled on top of her, grinning like a kid who’d just won the lottery. “Oh, I’m perfectly comfortable, thanks for asking.”

Sarah grunted, rolling her eyes as she steadied herself. "I'm gonna drown,” she muttered under her breath, struggling for balance but managing to hold him up. Barely.

Across the pool, Suguru exchanged a glance with Shoko. They didn’t even need words. With a wicked grin, Suguru charged forward, Shoko leaning in for support. They hit Sarah and Satoru with a solid shoulder bump, and the two toppled over immediately, crashing into the water in a messy heap.

Satoru surfaced first, shaking water out of his hair and pointing an accusing finger at Suguru. “Hey! That’s cheating! We weren't ready yet!”

Suguru just shrugged, all innocent-like, while Shoko leaned her elbow on his head, looking entirely nonchalant. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shoko said with a smirk.

Before Satoru could argue more, Sarah popped up out of the water and immediately climbed onto his back, locking her arms around his shoulders. "Okay, alright," she grumbled, her palm planting on his head as she pushed up.

Satoru laughed, hoisting her up as he trudged back into position. “Alright, alright. Let’s show them who’s boss.”

The two teams squared off again, this time taking it a little more seriously. Sarah steadied herself on Satoru’s shoulders, giving him a tap to signal she was ready, while Shoko got herself balanced on Suguru. Then the chaos began.

They pushed and pulled, slapping at each other’s arms, water splashing wildly as the four of them wrestled like maniacs in the pool. Shoko surprised everyone by lunging forward aggressively, trying to knock Sarah off, but Sarah was quick and managed to dodge. The next moment, Suguru was on the offense, spinning around and almost sending Satoru toppling, but Satoru held his ground, steadying Sarah just in time.

The fight was intense, and it was clear none of them were holding back. Other pool-goers stopped to stare at the scene—the four wild teenagers completely absorbed in their own world, laughing and shouting like they were the only ones in the place.

“You’re going down, Suguru!” Satoru called out, trying to make him lose balance.

“Not happening,” Suguru replied smoothly, though his grin said otherwise. Shoko, on his shoulders, reached out to grab Sarah’s arms, but Sarah quickly swatted her away, holding firm.

It went on like that for a good while—loud, splash-filled chaos. Even Shoko, who usually stayed more composed, was fully into the game now, determined not to lose. Every time one of them slipped, they scrambled back into position for another round. They took it way too seriously for what was supposed to be a fun game, but that was just how they were.

Eventually, after what felt like their hundredth rematch, Sarah finally managed to shove Shoko just hard enough to send her tumbling into the water. Shoko surfaced with a dramatic gasp, shaking water out of her hair as Suguru groaned in defeat.

“Yes!” Satoru cheered, throwing his fists up in victory, “We win!”

Sarah grinned, finally sliding off his shoulders with a splash, “Told you we’d take them.”

Shoko just shook her head, still catching her breath, “You two are insane.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

As the train rattled along the tracks, the four friends finally settled into the calm after an exhausting, laughter-filled day. Sarah and Shoko had slumped down onto the train seats, completely knocked out. Sarah’s head was leaning against Shoko’s shoulder, while Shoko's head lolled to the side, her hair tousled from the water. The gentle sway of the train, combined with the quiet hum of its movement, had lulled them both to sleep almost immediately after they sat down.

Satoru and Suguru stood in front of them, casually holding the overhead railings, their bags slung over their shoulders. The light from the setting sun filtered in through the windows, casting a warm orange glow over the scene. It painted long shadows inside the train, mixing with the muted fluorescent lights.

Suguru let out a long, slow yawn, stretching his arms above his head. Satoru shot him a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth curling into a teasing grin. “Getting tired, huh? Thought you had more stamina than that.”

Suguru chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, some of us don’t have boundless energy like you do, Satoru," he said with a little smile.

Satoru smirked, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re just mad ‘cause I won that last chicken fight," he teased.

Suguru gave a mock sigh, shaking his head, “Right, because having a giant like you on top of someone’s shoulders is totally fair.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m just that good,” Satoru puffed out his chest, trying to look as smug as possible, but Suguru just rolled his eyes at him.

Their banter faded into a comfortable silence after a moment, both of them still grinning from the exchange. The train clattered steadily beneath their feet, the faint hum of conversation from a few other passengers mixing with the rhythmic sounds of the tracks. It was the kind of quiet that felt good after a long day, not awkward, but restful.

Satoru glanced down at Sarah and Shoko, who were still fast asleep. He watched as Sarah shifted slightly, her hair falling over her face, and Shoko’s arm twitching as if she was dreaming. There was something oddly peaceful about seeing them like this—no arguments, no teasing, just the two of them completely relaxed.

Suguru noticed Satoru staring and raised an eyebrow. “They look like they had fun,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

Satoru nodded, his usual cocky grin replaced by a softer smile. “Yeah. Days like this are good. Don’t get enough of ‘em," he said softly.

Suguru hummed in agreement, leaning his head back against the railing. He let his eyes drift shut for a second, taking in the rare moment of calm. “It’s nice to just… relax, y’know? No cursed spirits, no missions. Just us being idiots for a day.”

Satoru didn’t respond immediately, his gaze shifting out the window as the scenery passed by. Buildings, trees, and the fading light of the day blurred together. The world outside looked serene, the orange glow of sunset casting everything in a soft, golden hue. It was the kind of beauty you only noticed when you weren’t rushing around, caught up in everything else.

He let out a quiet breath, the ghost of a smile still on his face. “Yeah, we need more days like this.”

Suguru opened his eyes again and glanced at Satoru. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low, almost as if he didn’t want to disturb the quiet.

Satoru blinked, snapping out of his thoughts, and looked over at his friend. “What do you mean?”

Suguru shrugged, his dark eyes steady but understanding. “I don’t know," he said, "You just seem... I don’t wanna say ‘reflective,’ but... reflective.”

Satoru’s grin flickered back, but it was gentler now. “Don’t get used to it. Just ‘cause I’m not running my mouth for two seconds doesn’t mean I’m all deep and brooding.”

Suguru chuckled, shaking his head, “Fair enough.”

Another lull in the conversation settled in, but it wasn’t awkward. The train clicked along, carrying them further from the water park and closer to home. Satoru’s eyes wandered back to the window, watching the sky slowly shift from orange to pink, then purple as the sun sank lower. He couldn’t help but think how rare these moments of peace were—between the missions, the curses, and all the chaos that seemed to follow them wherever they went.

He turned his head slightly, watching Sarah and Shoko again, their quiet breathing syncing with the rhythm of the train. It was strange, how close they’d all become in such a short time. He’d never really let himself dwell on it too much, but it was hard not to appreciate these rare, quiet moments. Especially when he'd felt so isolated for so long.

⤶ Prev Main Next ↪

[anomymoussoapbar]

I'm proship/profiction because I understand that the content somebody creates or is interested in isn't a perfect reflection of how they are irl.

I trust that other proshippers understand how to separate fiction and reality.

I'm anti-censorship; I won't make any exceptions because we've seen in history that once you start making exceptions, it can lead to queer media also being demonized and banned (the best I can think off the top of my head is the trans institute that existed in nazi Germany, which had so many amazing trans resources, getting destroyed by nazis).

I believe people should be able to use art as an outlet for anything. Not every single thing in life needs to be censored, and people do often use art to process feelings and experiences.

I'm against harassing people for their art. Not only does harassing some internet stranger sound like a waste of time, it's bullying too. I don't want to be a bully.

I believe in "don't like, don't look, don't interact" (my own variation of don't like don't read). I have tools to block people and hide content I don't want to see. I'm going to use them. I am responsible for curating my own online experience.

I've seen people online who use proshipping as a coping mechanism. I don't understand how that's possible, but that doesn't really matter so long as those people are safe. I wouldn't deny a victim their coping mechanism unless it endangered their life because that's against my beliefs and I'm not a therapist, so that wouldn't even be my place to speak. I've noticed antis don't like these kinds of victims because they don't fit into the antis' perfect boxes of how they think victims should be, so they often harass and bully and claim victims need therapy/need better therapists. I find this ridiculous because in my and many other's experiences, therapy is inherently proship/profiction and antis ignore this/claim it's not true (idk how you can do that if you're not a psychologist but they're too far gone to argue with). And they don't even offer to pay for the therapy, lol.

Thank you for making this blog and being curious, you're amazing. Sorry that this is kinda long lol

Hello!!! :*)

Thank you so so so much for your views.

I find it interesting how you listed it and specifically how you explained "don't like don't look don't interact" [I really like how you phrased it :*)] which I myself see me doing a lot.

When I read through your explanation, I began getting vaguely reminded of those internet safety PSAs they would make kids watch when you are younger, of curating your own safe environment.

How to report bullying, and to not harass others online as well being points that made me think of those internet safety PSAs LOL

Something I find myself thinking about is on how a lot of what fiction can affect reality is a concern long ago that was likely brought by concerns by parents who were against video games saying it promoted violence.

I also find the idea of fictionally dark themes interesting, as I have realized I. Do often indulge in dark medias. In an oddly comforting way.

I really don't like how people harass proshippers, or anyone in general. And from what I have been gathering, not all proshippers indulge in dark thematics. Perhaps the majority, but the proshipping idea is simply respecting even if you dont share it.

Also, when you mentioned people not being exactly how they write or the creations they make, I realized how a lot of mainstream medias follow this. The creator of most Studio ghibli movies is COMPLETELY different from the peppy and cute movies he makes and the creator of popular horror Manga Junji ito makes a lot of horror visuals and grotesque stories however is just a sweet guy in real life.

I know I bring it up a lot in my posts, but a lot of why media can be triggering for me and sickening is when I see what reminds me of my own traumatic experiences [S/A /COCSA and grooming.] And how no matter how much I filter, it will always end up appearing.

As it makes me physically sick, revolted, and sadly reminds me of what I've so deeply buried.

However, I am ONE side of the S/A survivor victim experience and spectrum. The other is people who find comfort in exploring their feelings and it helps them understand on what happened to them.

And I love art. I express myself through art. I used to draw what happened to me and draw out how I felt with characters. But it would make me feel so much worse. As I am and was at the mental point of connecting so hard to the fictional reality which I built to be so much better than I was in.

I don't really know why I'm saying all of this, I guess I just want to lead to the fact that every survivor has their way of coping, and mine isn't the same as everyone else's. And I am still learning to accept that and educate myself on it. Because I do. I really do want to understand and take away my own personal stigmas.

I have so much more I would love to add but I feel I have been rambling for too long LOL

Oh my goodness I'm so sorry for ranting but anyways, thank you so much for the ask and informing me in this much detail. You are so so loved and appreciated. 💞🌸

[abalovesfic]

Gonna talk more about The Book of Bill in this Ask. As well as ur answer to my 1st Ask:

"1. Preorders start today actually!!!!! It’s a really great zine and I’m excited to have been a part of it."

Nice!

"2. I do plan on finishing at least The Helpful Lie, I think I owe the fic that much and I have so much of it mapped out. That being said…"

I really do hope u will at least finish this fic someday. As well as Illumine and Cosmic Twins. And etc. I love these TAU fics dearly after all. However, I can wait. I have waited years for more of something, and I can take a long to post and stuff myself. And I can do the same with these things.

"3. Spending time in the Psych fandom has been so rewarding. This was the right time for me to transition into something else. I’m gonna put this vaguely for privacy’s sake— I needed a new fandom if I was going to engage healthily again. And honestly, I think in 7 months Psych has given me more support and community than 12 years in Gravity Falls ever did. (But that’s luck, considering I went to Psych con and met the people who live in my phone.) (And probably also demographics.)"

I am sad u feel like the GF community couldn't always give u the stuff that the Psych community did. I have had great times in the GF fandom(s) myself personally. Saying that, I am happy Psych and it's community is is making u happy right now.

"4. Obvi Gravity Falls and TAU are still the loves of my life and rn there’s this beautiful meld of Psych and Gravity Falls coexisting in my brain. Book of Bill was great and it reinvigorated something in me. So yes, I’ll come back eventually and write more but for now, I’m invested in my little queer detectives"

And I hope to see u and I am excited to see u come back more in/to the GF and/or TAU fandom(s) someday (like new chapters and/or fics. Etc.), but like I said, I am happy you are having fun with Psych right now. And/or having fun with a blend of Psych and Gravity Falls in ur mind.

Also, "Book of Bill was great and it reinvigorated something in me",

Cool!

Gonna talk more about this, but I will save that for it's separate Ask.

Thank you for ur Answer to my previous Ask.

:)

1/?.

Oof. Uhhhhhhhh.

I think it’s just the helpful lie I’ll be finishing. (Maybe cosmic twins.) I can’t go back to Illumine. I do not like to contradict canon and though I didn’t know Book of Bill would be a thing a the time, I still don’t like that my story arc was off and the fic is too far gone to change anything. I won’t delete it but I’m not finishing it.

I love the game of canon too much. I like having to work within its confines even if I’m going off the rails with an AU. It challenges me as a writer. So Illumine has lost its appeal, but The Helpful Lie has certainly gained some. I have thoughts about my dumb triangle son…

And ok ok… it’s not that Gravity Falls/ Tau wasn’t a great fandom with tons of love and support. It is! And forgive me if this gets TMI. But I felt like I would never be good enough for this fandom. All of my fic, cosplay the freaking fanzine I started, my whole thesis, every single academic conference I went to specifically to talk about the show, all of the work I put into to Gravity Falls: I was essentially destroying myself for a fandom that wouldn’t love me back with the same passion. I still LOVE Gravity Falls with my whole heart and soul. But that burnout still hurt me.

So this step back has been good.

And Psych is oddly different. I think the fandom is old enough now to be kind of its own thing— but going to Psych con was the eye opener. I was worried about being the new kid on the block in this fandom from 2006. But complete strangers have shown up for me, tried to help push my academic career by promoting my writing and trying to get me celebrity interviews (which didn’t work out but damn— I’ve never had folks do me those favors before just because they want me to succeed), among other things. It changed my perspective a lot to have total strangers hug me and tell me I had done so much.

That was very ranty and emotional because I’m super sleep deprived (Bill my son please hop into my brain and joy ride me around, leaving me to wake up in a Taco Bell and with half a chalupa. This flesh puppet is ripe for the takin’). But things have been good different in this new corner of the internet. And when I’m ready I’m gonna finish the helpful lie so that I can feel good about it and not like I’m jumping through hoops.

Oh and the blending in my brain looks like memes

[harrietvane]

Hello,

I’ve just finished “Blue at the Mizzen” and I was wondering what your opinion is on the unfinished book is….

Have you read it? Would you recommend reading it or not?

I am so sad to be at the end of the books but ending on Jack so happy and relieved might be the best place to stop?

Would really value your opinion as I know you know the books well.

Warmly,

Rosanna

Ooh this is a tough one - because my own approach (thus far) is not one I’d necessarily recommend? The thing is: I have not read it.

However! Complicated reasons for that. One is a personal weirdness of mine where I am oddly resistant to watching or reading the ‘final’ instalment of a thing. I have noticed myself doing this a lot: I’ll just leave the very last episode unwatched, the last book in a long running serialised saga unread. This is not a recommended practice, it’s what I’d call ‘a super dumb thing to do’, and I’d categorise that as a symptom (of what? Who knows! I’m an undiagnosed delight). Is it because if they fumble the last instalment it leaves a bad taste for the whole series? Maybe. Is it because if there’s still one left, then there’s still Something Out There and the experience of discovering new writing isn’t over yet? Could be! Anyway, it’s a silly thing to do and I don’t recommend it as an approach to media. Go forth and read!

Having said that, I do have an aversion, generally, to publishing bits and pieces of an author’s notes as though it were finished work. I think it feels like being asked to have the mindset where a creative endeavour is ‘content’ to consume, rather than a constructed, deliberate work - “it’s their words and you want more words! So here’s more!”. O’Brian seems, from the work, and from interviews, to be a bit of an exacting, deliberate sort of creator - taking 3 chapters of some unedited typescript and adding some handwritten elements that didn’t even get to editing stage feels uhhhhh vaguely intrusive? Ahhhh why am I like this, that’s not even a reasoned response, and should not be taken as direction lol. I should back away slowly from this sort of parasocial contortion!

Like, I’m all for publishing someone’s essays, collected letters, all kinds of ephemera - that’s it’s own thing. But taking something which is a specifically a work In Progress, and publishing it as though it were a presentable book (a voyage of Jack Aubrey), didn’t really appeal to me. Which is contradictory of me as I do enjoy artists proofs, sketchbooks, and unfinished paintings! I contain multitudes.

At the end of the day it felt a bit like the publisher going “I’m going to tell you a new Aubreyad story, but we don’t know if O’Brian was going to tell it in this way, really, and also I’m going to stop partway through” which I didn’t fancy experiencing. So, at this point I tend to finish up at 20 and go back to 1. Never say never though - maybe the various editor’s notes, forewords, and afterwords would help me enjoy it as a fragment, rather than a presented work. It’s at least 3 chapters of (more or less) O’Brian prose, which is better prose than one often finds.

Please don’t let me stop you for any reason. Read on! If you go ahead and read it, post your thoughts?